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11.21.2013

Winter again, and I'm glad that the seasons
keep coming around and around.
I am glad that the heart, too, is seasonal,
that it loses its leaves in November,
holds trembling hands to the sky;
that it freezes and thaws and freezes,
running with water in autumn,
singing with birds in the spring.

It is ready now for darkness
and a night-sky splintered with stars,
for winds, wuthering its stony ramparts,
for fires in the halls within.